Ghosts
by cynically optimistic
Summary: Nostalgia is overrated. One shot ficlet. Veronica point of view. VL. Set post LitB.


Title: Ghosts

Author: cynically optimistic

Summary: Nostalgia is over-rated.

Spoilers: Set post LitB, so vague spoilers for all episodes so far.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make nothing.

A/N: Kind of a companion piece to "Free Fall". Enjoy, or not, as the case may be. :) Thanks (once more) to Evidence for providing the challenge, and to Eolivet for the persistence that introduced me to the wonderful world of VM in the first place. :p It's appreciated.

-/-

She runs through the crowded hallway, a blonde and pink whirl amongst a sea of carefully co-ordinated green. Her uniform was in the wash that day. Her mom had forgotten she would need it. In hindsight, she was starting to forget a lot of things.

At a friendly face, the girl stops, her pain evident. The confusion on her face is growing.

She doesn't yet realise it's destined to stay that way. She'll soon learn.

-/-

The subtle change in expression triggers a disquieting comprehension. Her detachment is not as clear as she likes to think. The hallway is empty and she knows it. But sometimes it never feels more crowded.

She's watched this scene a thousand times. It's almost ethereal.

The broken hearted school girl, crying over her 'first love'. She wants to laugh at the cliché, but finds that she can't quite manage it. Innocence just isn't all that funny.

The figure before her is recognisable, but strangely unfamiliar.

Yet even now the image is fading. Deconstructed one too many times to be trusted. Maybe she should be grateful to her faulty memory? There is a certain comfort she draws from this elaborate fragmentation. The puzzle may finally be complete. But now there are too many pieces. The picture is just too big.

She only knows what is still in front of her in this scene – a girl yet to be defined by her choices. It should be painful to watch. Yet even this arouses little more than a disturbing ambivalence. Necessity made _that_ girl a stranger. No-one else seems able to recall her, so what's the point in trying?

Is it wrong that sometimes she'd take it back in a heartbeat? She knows the answer she's expected to give. Yet there are many things to which that dictum could apply. Idle fantasy is no longer her thing. Or so she tells herself.

-/-

Her cheek brushes the cold metallic locker, breaking the spell.

It's disturbing, she considers briefly, how accustomed to this she has become. She should really start marking down 'hallucination' on her class schedule. Along with the other daily activity which has worked its way into her routine this year.

She sighs, as the ringing bell breathes movement into the frozen air around her. Normalcy, however twisted, is still a relief. That 'life goes on thing', she realises, will get you every time.

The ghosts of the dead she can handle. It's the other kind which are tougher to lay to rest.

She looks up at the door in front of her now open, classmates already spilling out.

They all know the reason she's here.

-/-

His arrival signals a parting of the tides. His particular disease, it would appear, is as contagious as ever. She knows all too well how that feels.

Their eyes meet fleetingly. Although she can't be sure who looks away first. For now, it isn't important.

With a measured step, he is by her side. His hand slips into hers as his eyes habitually study the floor. A summer of being hounded by the paparazzi will do that to a person, she supposes.

Her head held high, she surveys their onlookers coolly. Everyone has their defence mechanisms, and experience has taught her well.

It isn't the first time this action has elicited such a reaction. And both know it won't be the last.

Yet, for now at least, it's her turn to lead the way.

Easily bored, the crowd disperses. Even freak shows become common place after a while. As she turns to look at him, she feels the grip on her hand tighten. Yet she has the comforting feeling it's for her sake as much as it is his.

A girlish giggle carries down the now emptied corridor. There is a tranquillity to it and she finds herself smiling at the sound.

She's thought about this a lot over the past year. Yet she laughs when someone suggests it's made her wise.

Surely wisdom wouldn't be so obvious. How a figure so large, yet ultimately powerless in life, could, in her death, have changed the course of so many lives?

Yeah, _their_ Lilly would totally have got a kick out of all this.

In her color portrait world, she believed she had it all figured out.

And maybe she did.

/end


End file.
